


Bast

by fannishliss



Series: Kink List [24]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Drugs, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Wakanda, aphrodesiac, kink list, sort of, the wakandan religion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 12:57:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8446681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fannishliss/pseuds/fannishliss
Summary: When T'Challa finds out that Steve and Bucky intend to get married, he wishes them the blessings of Bast. This entails a night in the jungle.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is for my kink list: drugs and aphrodesiacs.
> 
> This is in the same universe as my story, Longing. Here, Bucky has a new arm, and the triggers have been removed. Sam, Steve, and Bucky are still under T'Challa's protection in Wakandan until the Accords are revised.

Family meal at the Wakandan royal palace is at once grand and simple.    
  
The table is laden with delicious preparations of meat and vegetables, some spicy, some a little more plain.  Steve has found that he pretty much likes them all.  His plate is piled high and he enjoys the rich flavors. Bucky is a little more cautious but taking his time and savoring each bite.  
  
“Sam tells me that congratulations are in order,” T’Challa smiles.    
  
Steve shoots a look at Sam, who cuts him off.  
  
“No, I did not spoil your news. When the King of Wakanda asks you a question point blank, you gotta spill.”  
  
“It’s not a secret,” Bucky says, unconcerned.  “If we had a secret, nobody would know.”  
  
Steve nods at Bucky’s logic and smiles at T’Challa.  “We’re just getting used to the idea, not so much keeping it under wraps, as, kind of, enjoying it.”  
  
“Enjoying the heck out of it,” Bucky grins.    
  
Sam hides his eyes behind his hand.  
  
T’Challa lifts his glass.  “To James and Steven — the blessings of Bast upon your union!”  
  
“Thank you,” Steve says, after they all drink, and Bucky nods as well.    
  
“What’s that mean, the blessings of Bast?” Bucky asks.  One of the things about Bucky now is how he comes right out and asks if he doesn’t know about something. After being brainwashed and lied to for so many years, he is eager to gather information from every source available.  
  
“In Wakanda, we still follow the ways of our ancestors, who worshipped four gods — Bast, Sekhmet, Sobek and Ghekre.  As Black Panther my powers and my allegiance are due to Bast, the panther goddess.  She gives her protection to the nation of Wakanda and blesses us in many ways.”  
  
Sam is shaking his head.  “I still have a hard time with it, the gods walking among us….”  
  
Steve looks up. “Thor is a great guy, but he’s not a god.”  
  
“Dude commands the lightning.  What are you gonna call that?” Sam asks.  
  
“I call that, my long-lived friend from another realm, who has powers we don’t quite understand — yet,” Steve counters.  
  
“That’s a reasonable answer,” T’Challa says.  “But for my people, it is just as reasonable to offer devotion to these beings who have guided our nation for centuries.”  
  
Steve nods without really conceding.  He can’t deny that T’Challa has received great power and uses it with due deliberation.  
  
“I get why a god would care about a country,” Bucky says, “but why give a hoot about two mooks like us?”  
  
“Every individual is vital to the ultimate success of the whole,” T’Challa says.  “The gods may use any of us as their instruments.”  
  
“I can get behind that,” Steve says, sincerely.  
  
Bucky grins.  “You always knew there was something special for you in the cards.”  
  
Steve blushes a little and hangs his head.  
  
“Faith is powerful,” T’Challa says, “but here in Wakanda we do not live on faith.  Our gods are always close, ready to give us audience and sometimes grant our desires.”  
  
“Hm,” Sam says, still skeptical.  
  
T’Challa says to Sam, “In physics or in any science, tests and proofs are the way we move forward.  But I do not deny the validity of realms beyond the science that serves us here on this earth.”  
  
Steve nods again.  “Thor’s talked a little about Asgard…. the rules of nature are a little different there — not just a different planet — a different realm.”  
  
“Yes,” T’Challa says.  “But our gods work their will here, on this earth. Because of the gifts they give us, we return our thanks and praise.”  
  
“Is Bast really going to bless our union?” Bucky asks.  
  
“I have already uttered the prayer,” T’Challa says.  “Do you wish me to rescind it?”  
  
“No!” Steve cries.  “Not at all. Thanks, T’Challa.  It really means a lot.”  
  
“Wait until afterward, then you can thank me,” T’Challa says.     
  
“What do you mean, afterward?” Bucky asks.  
  
T’Challa sits back a little, a smile on his face.  “In Wakanda, our gods are real.  Their blessings are have real and immediate effects.  After you’ve finished your meal, I’ll take you to the Temple.  And then you will see.”  
  
“Oh,” Steve says, a little nervous.  
  
“Okay,” Bucky says, and eats with a little more intent.    
  
Sam is shaking his head, but T’Challa reassures him.  “There is nothing to worry about, Sam.”  
  
“Why should I worry?” Sam asks.  “You said worry.  Now I’m worrying.”  
  
T’Challa laughs.  “Bast is a god of warriors.  Steven and James are more than worthy to partake in her devotions.  They will be fine.”  
  
Steve tries to keep to his manners and not wolf his food, but before he knows it, staff are clearing the table and T’Challa is standing.    
  
Sam claps Steve on the shoulder.  “Have fun, guys.”  
  
“Night, Sam,” Steve says, and then T’Challa is leading them out of the palace. A driverless electric car pulls up.  T’Challa tells it to take them to the Temple, and they roll silently and speedily away from the Palace complex toward the darkness of the Wakandan sacred parklands.    
  
The night air is warm and moist.  The stars overhead are bright above the avenue leading to the Temple.  The jungle is dark and loud with the trilling of insects and the hoots of night creatures.    
  
“From here, it is more appropriate to walk,”  T’Challa says.  
  
“It’s nice,” Bucky says.  Steve bumps Bucky’s hip, amazed that after so many heartbreaks and so many years of sorrow, Bucky is finally there again, walking by his side, right where he’s supposed to be.    
  
The Temple rises before them as they approach by foot along the broad avenue.  The Royal Palace is modern, with one wing that rises tall, made of glass and steel.  By contrast, the Temple is ancient.  Its bulky stone edifice gleams pale in the moonlight.  Two huge panthers, forged from solid vibranium, keep watch on either side of the columned entryway.  One of the panthers lounges, relaxed, its slitted eyes alert.  The other is poised, ready to spring, claws out and teeth bared.  Steve remembers fighting T’Challa, remembers the shriek of vibranium claws across his shield.    
  
Inside, moonlight streams across the floor of the Temple, pouring in through tall, narrow windows that are open to the breezes of the night. Steve has spent many hours in churches and cathedrals in Europe and America, but here there are no pews, and there is no altar. There is no graven image of Bast for Her devotees to give their obeisance.  
  
The walls, however, are covered with inscriptions, painting, mosaics and plaques. The wall and ceiling opposite the entryway features an epic mosaic, showing Bast granting powers to the first Black Panther, the huge vibranium meteorite glowing with heat behind her, half submerged in the Sacred Mound. Steve glances around the room and his artist’s eyes pick out image after image of Bast, the many warriors who have served as Black Panther, and the women who fought for their nation as Dora Milaje.    
  
“My forebears,” T’Challa says, “the mothers and fathers of my people, and She Who has blessed us through so many centuries.”  
  
“Wow,” Steve says.    
  
A woman’s voice rings low into the space. “Greetings, brother.”  
  
Steve doesn’t jump, but his heart does pick up a beat.  It’s not Bast, but a mighty woman warrior with a panther’s steady gait— the King’s head bodyguard, and also elder sister.  
  
“Shuri,” T’Challa says, and goes to embrace her, kissing both cheeks.    
  
Steve and Bucky nod to the royal warrior as Shuri regards them silently.  
  
“They are worthy,” Shuri finally says.  
  
“Yes,” T’Challa says.    
  
Shuri hands him a small corked bottle, and leaves without another word.    
  
“Wow,” Steve says again, eyeing the darkness of the door through which Shuri has silently vanished.  Bucky is staring after her, and Steve knows he is tracking her movements in the passages beyond.    
  
“She likes you,” T’Challa says, with a tiny chuckle.  
  
“That’s good,” Steve says, trying to breathe a little easier.    
  
“Drink this,” T’Challa says.  “Bast has heard my prayer and will watch over you this night.”  
  
“What is it?” Steve asks.    
  
Bucky scoffs out a low laugh.  “Steve Rogers, with an ounce of caution!”  
  
T’Challa holds up the bottle. “The gods have blessed Wakanda in many ways.  Around the Sacred Mound grow many herbs that are seen nowhere else on this planet — so they do not have names that would mean much to you.  One such herb is made into a poultice that gives special strength and abilities to those who serve Her.”  
  
“You have a super soldier herb?” Bucky says, shifting his stance. “Anyone can just go pick it?  
  
“By no means,” T’Challa says. “This is why we maintain our devotion to the gods. They help protect the gifts of Wakanda.”  
  
Steve regards the bottle with greater respect.  He remembers the serum, and he knows what Zola’s serum did to Bucky.    
  
T’Challa picks up on Steve’s unease.  “This is not the Panther poultice.  As I said, many strange and potent herbs grow upon the sacred mound.  This concoction is the traditional drink for those who intend to be wed.”  
  
Steve clears his throat.  “Um, if you don’t mind me asking, what does it do?”  Bucky gives another little cough of amusement.    
  
T’Challa maintains his considerable dignity.  “You were both raised as Christians, yes?”  
  
Steve still thinks of himself as Catholic, even goes to mass on a fairly regular basis. “Yes.”  
  
T’Challa nods a little.  “As far as I understand your religion, you worship your God with prayer and thanksgiving, just as we do. But our practices are closer to what you might call Pentecostalism — we invite our gods to move and influence our bodies.”  
  
“Voodoo,” Bucky says.  
  
T’Challa grimaces a little.  “The loa of Vodun are not our gods. We do not think of our gods as ‘riding’ us in our devotion. Our practices are meant to release the inner warrior, giving us free rein to experience the divine power Bast offers to us.”  
  
“Huh,” Steve says.  
  
Bucky steps forward and puts his hand on Steve to get his attention. It startles Steve a little because Bucky isn’t that demonstrative in front of other people these days. “Steve — if this worries you, we don’t gotta do it.”  
  
“There is no need at all to feel any obligation,” T’Challa hurries to say.  
  
“No,” Steve says.  “I, I think I’m okay with it.  How about you, Buck?”  
  
Bucky looks at the ground for a moment, then glances up to Steve. “I have some questions.”  
  
“Shoot,” Steve says.  
  
“I don’t mean to offend, but I have a problem with letting some outside entity take me over,” Bucky says.  
  
“The drink will not subvert your will,” T’Challa reassures them.  “Bast’s influence will encourage your own hidden impulses to rise up inside you.”  
  
“Are you sure that’s wise?” Steve says.  
  
T’Challa sighs. “Even in Wakanda, these practices are waning. Our people believe in the gods, but many do not take time to make them a part of everyday life.  If you do not wish to partake, I assure you that no one will be offended. However, many people say that their lives have been transformed by this blessing.”  
  
Steve looks over at Bucky, hoping that his friend’s eyes will speak clearly.  If Bucky has any doubts or hesitations, Steve doesn’t want to go through with it.    
  
Bucky meets Steve’s gaze, calm and ready.  “We’ve been through so much shit,” Bucky says, “but T’Challa wouldn’t steer us wrong. We should do it.”  
  
“You sure?” Steve says.  
  
“No,” Bucky says, and a rare smile steals over his face.  “But if you drink first, and I follow, it won’t be the dumbest thing you ever got me into.”  
  
“That’s for sure,” Steve says, and turns  to T’Challa.  “Okay, we’re ready. What do we do?”  
  
“Drink,” T’Challa says with a little smile.  “And enjoy. Don’t worry, Bast will be watching over you throughout the night.”  
  
T’Challa hands Bucky the bottle.   Bucky uncorks it and smells.    
  
“Huh,” he says.  “Smells a little like Benedictine.”  
  
“You and your fancy cocktails,” Steve says.  “Give.”  
  
Steve smells.  The herbal concoction fills his nose, mysterious and green.  It smells sharp and wild and good.  Steve looks again at Bucky. “Here goes,” he says.  
  
Bucky nods.  
  
Steve drinks half the bottle in three swallows, and hands it over to Bucky, who downs the rest.    
  
“Blessings of Bast be upon you both,” T’Challa says.  He holds his open hands at waist level, nods, and go out the way Shuri went.    
  
“You feel it?” Bucky says.  
  
“No,” Steve says.  “You?”  
  
“No,” Bucky says.    
  
“Huh,” Steve says.  “How long do we wait?”  
  
“Maybe the serum will stop it from working.”  
  
“Maybe the serum will make it more intense.”  
  
“Hm,” Bucky says.  “It’s kinda hot in here?”  
  
“Are we supposed to stay in here, inside the Temple, do ya think?” Steve asks.    
  
“I don’t know,” Bucky says, “but I kinda need some fresh air.”  
  
“Yeah,” Steve says, “okay.”  
  
They go back outside, past the giant panther statues.  The jungle is all around them, stretching on behind the Temple, which is situated in a pretty sizable park with the Sacred Mound at its center.  The Dora Milaje oversee security at the Palace, but also here, at the Temple grounds, so even though the place seems deserted, he doubts that it is.  
  
“Steve,” Bucky says.  “Look at the sky.”  
  
Steve looks up, and almost wheels back.  The stars look huge, pulsing with light and color.  They almost seem to sing with brightness, the music of the spheres.    
  
“Wow,” Steve breathes.    
  
“Yeah,” Bucky echoes. “That’s worth the price of admission.”  
  
“Listen,” Steve says. It’s not that the sounds of the jungle have grown louder — but Steve can hear so much.  Every insect seems to sing directly to his ears.  The floosh of feathers as birds move from branch to branch; their territorial calls imprint their meaning into his mind.  The tiny creatures — rodents, lizards, frogs, so many creatures Steve never much thought about — they dash here and there through the tangled jungle, a drama no less epic for its miniature scale.    
  
Steve listens, enraptured, his face turned towards the sky.  The soft breeze of the warm Wakandan night hushes over his skin.  It feels amazing, like the caresses of a perfectly hot bath.    
  
“Bucky,” Steve says, “I — I think I’m really high right now.”  
  
Turning his gaze toward Bucky, Steve is captivated.  The scintillating starlight is dancing on Bucky’s every feature — it glints in the waves and golden highlights of Bucky’s smooth, chocolate hair, it sparkles in the blue of his eyes and outlines the perfection of his lips and the planes of his face.  Bucky is breathing, and Steve hears every inhale and exhale like the soothing rush of ocean waves.  He sways toward his lover, drawn in.  A heady scent is rising off of Bucky — it’s the same, primal scent of pure Bucky that Steve has known his whole life — but so much more intense — so rich — filling Steve’s lungs until he’s drunk on it.  Steve’s fingers itch to rise up and touch — his whole body, now that he thinks of it, is desperate for the feel of Bucky — the warmth, the sturdy, comforting reality of him. Steve takes a step.    
  
Bucky looks at Steve, a fire of love and mischief in his clear blue eyes.   “Catch me if you can!” Bucky whispers, and in a flash he whirls and bolts into the darkness.  
  
“What?” Steve gasps, too shocked to move for two crucial seconds, and by that time, Bucky has vanished into the trees.    
  
Bucky is fast and nearly silent — but Steve is also fast, and his every sense is trained on his lover.  He gives chase, amazed by the way Bucky flows through the unfamiliar jungle, weaving in and out through giant trees and trailing vines, undergrowth and roots and rocks.    
  
Steve runs and Bucky runs faster, and Steve hears Bucky laugh, a joyful chuckle under his breath as he runs.      
  
“Catch me!” Bucky laughs — and launches himself off the ground, leaping for the branches, swinging up —  
  
Steve isn’t ready for this!  City streets, sure — but parkour in the actual jungle?  
  
Bucky is running through the branches of the trees — jumping, swinging, and Steve is struggling not to lose sight of him. Every so often Steve misses a step and Bucky seems to slow — not intending to lose him altogether, waiting for Steve to catch up — but not get too close.  
  
Steve hears the lapping of waves and smells the slightly fishy smell of a lake.  The jungle gives way to a small expanse of water, the surface swirling with the reflection of the celestial glory above.    
  
Steve finds Bucky’s shirt on a branch, then his trousers, then his shoes.  A splash, and Bucky is in the water.    
  
Steve leaves Bucky’s clothes in a pile, strips off and adds his own, and dives in after him.    
  
They swim.  The warmth of the tropical Wakandan lake feels like silk on Steve’s over-sensitive skin.  The smell of lake water overpowers the scent of Bucky, and this seems wrong to Steve.  Annoyed, he puts on a burst of speed, relying on his ears to locate Bucky as he slices through the water.    
  
At last, Steve’s fingers brush Bucky’s ankle and Steve grabs on, kicking hard with his feet so that Bucky doesn’t get away.  Steve flails through the water with his other arm and gets Bucky around the legs, and then they are entwined, treading water in the middle of a lake, the moon and the crazy stars shining down all around them.  
  
“Gotcha,” Steve pants.    
  
Bucky’s smile is glorious, that wide, sexy smile that has always driven Steve crazy, that front tooth, just slightly crooked, the one imperfection in all of Bucky’s exquisite symmetry.    
  
“Now you got me, whatcha gonna do with me, huh?” Bucky says, laughing.    
  
“I can think of a few things,” Steve says, and softly captures Bucky’s mouth.  He tastes like the lake, but mostly like Bucky, and Steve is ravenous for the taste of his beloved.    
  
They kiss and float, the water soaking up the heat of their bodies — warm when it is caught between them, and cool all around them.  Lazily they make their way back to the shore, squelching their toes through the mud at the edge of the lake.  
  
“Ugh,” Steve says.  
  
“City boy!” Bucky accuses. “It’s just mud.”  
  
“You should talk!”  
  
Bucky wasn’t afraid to get dirty, but he had always been fastidious about getting clean, primping and getting fancy in the best duds he could afford. Steve was the one who never knew or cared what he looked like — usually smudged with graphite or ink or paint if they were flush.  
  
Bucky bends down into the water. Whatever that stuff did to Steve’s eyesight, it hasn’t worn off.  Every drop of water on Bucky glitters like diamonds, throwing off rainbows in all directions. Bucky glows like some kind of angel, the smooth contours of his body more entrancing than any statue Steve has ever scene.  His gorgeous new vibranium arm joins seamlessly to his shoulder — the lighter arm is finally letting his enhanced body heal around the grievous stresses the old arm wore on his shoulder and torso.  
  
Steve just stands there, feasting his eyes on the beauty of his soon-to-be spouse when Bucky stands up, a glob of mud dripping from his fingers.  
  
“Oh no— oh no you don’t!” Steve says, but his evasive twist and dive is useless.  Bucky slings the mud in a wide arc, catching Steve across the arm, and chest and face. He squinches his mouth and eyes shut and sure enough, Bucky unleashes an even bigger gob of mud onto his helpless, unsuspecting opponent.  
  
Steve is utterly besmirched. Nothing to do but surge with all his might and leap toward Bucky, catching him again, smearing the mud Bucky threw, back onto Bucky’s own body.    
  
Bucky is laughing, smiling so open and easy.  Steve’s heart pounds, swelling with emotion.  He never let himself hope that they could have this again — this easy, playful, joyful friendship, the amazed adoration flooding out from deep in Steve’s heart’s core.  
  
Bucky is standing in a pristine lake, under the wonders of the African sky, the untamed jungle all around them — and Bucky is the most amazing thing Steve has ever seen or will ever see.    
  
Steve lifts his hands just to get a better grasp — one on Bucky’s right shoulder, one against his neck.  
  
“I’m gonna kiss you some more,” Steve warns, leaning in.  
  
“Okay,” Bucky says, that smile still transfiguring his face from angel to devil and back again.  
  
Steve takes his time, exploring that lush, perfect mouth, plastering himself, mud and all, against Bucky’s body, feeling the lake waters lapping against his calves and the oozy mud squishing between his toes.  The breeze against his wet skin is pleasantly cool — he’ll soon be dry — and the water is warm — and Bucky is hot, pure decadent heat, pressed up against him, an unquenchable fire.  Bucky’s strong thighs, his sturdy hips and flat stomach and broad chest — Bucky is like a landscape and Steve just wants to roam.    
  
Bucky’s arms come around him, strong and inescapable.  Bucky ran, but this time, he wanted to be caught, and now he’s holding on tight, and he’s not gonna let Steve go.  
  
“Sorry about the mud,” he says, between kisses.  
  
“Oh?” Steve says.    
  
“Yeah,” Bucky says, licking his lips — “maybe we should rinse off a little.”  
  
They scoop up water in their hands and pour it over each other, until all the mud has trickled away, and Bucky’s pale skin is marble perfection once more.    
  
Bucky takes Steve’s hand and leads him ashore.  They swish their feet as best they can, and the soft grasses take care of the rest.  
  
“Where are our clothes?” Bucky asks.  
  
Steve laughs.  “Uh, it was you throwing things left and right. They’re around here somewhere.”  
  
They walk along the shore, and by the time they find their clothes, Steve doesn’t even want them.  He’s no nudist— he and Bucky tried too hard for too many years to be modest around each other, to change those habits so quickly — but he feels like he’s walking through the Garden, naked and perfect and unafraid, and Bucky is clearly the pinnacle of creation walking next to him.  
  
A shiver runs through Steve and Bucky’s glowing skin is radiant, imbued with holiness.  At Steve’s gasp, Bucky turns, and his eyes beam bright with love and concern.    
  
“Bucky,” Steve says, “I love you so much.”  
  
“I love you too, Stevie,” Bucky says.  
  
They fall together in a sweet embrace. The long chase is over. Bast looks on, watching over the two warriors as they lower their guard.  So powerful — She lets them be vulnerable.  So strong — She lets them be tender.  So mighty — She lets them forget the cares of the world, for this one night, lets them forget everything but each other.    
  
The sun rises in the morning, and the potion of Bast’s blessing lingers into the day, soothing the scratches and bites and little aches of their coupling until the serum wipes away every trace.  
  
Eventually they put on their clothes, taking most of the day getting back to the Temple, where, in broad daylight, worshipers come and go, and Bucky and Steve try not to look too obvious.  
  
Shuri finds them, folds her hands together and gives them a minuscule bow.  They blush, and smile, and look up in gratitude at the image of Bast. The panther goddess gazes down, serene and calm.    
  
“She’s smiling,” Bucky says.  
  
“I don’t know if she is,” Steve says, “but I sure am.”  
  
“Me too,” Bucky says, and the love doesn’t stop, flowing through their strong, joined hands. 


End file.
